


Both Literally and Figuratively

by TheSingerThatYouWanted (orphan_account)



Category: Ghostbusters (2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 02:43:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7600369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/TheSingerThatYouWanted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpectedly familiar apparition makes an appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Both Literally and Figuratively

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be much angstier but I was listening to a very upbeat playlist and just couldn't bring myself to do it. Also the Holtz/Erin was totally unplanned but it's definitely there if you squint a bit, clearly driven by my innate desire to make everything a little bit more gay.

“Y’know something, Gilbert?” yells Holtzmann, raising her voice to be heard above the crashing sounds of furniture being thrown across the room by an invisible entity. “This time the goo really does seem to be after you personally. Don’t ask me why, but it does.”

“I’d noticed.”

Erin is crouched on top of an antique wardrobe, which is wobbling dangerously beneath her. At this point it’s hard to say why. Sure, it’s probably not built to be stood on, but the floor is so covered with ectoplasm that she’s no longer actually certain there’s a floor under there. It’s almost sentient, climbing up the sides up the cupboard. Luckily for her it only seems to be able to climb about a foot at a time, and can’t reach any higher. Whatever the reason for the wobbling, she’ll take an angry poltergeist trying to tug a wardrobe out from under her over having yet another outfit ruined by that slime any day.

Across the room, Holtz is clearly having the time of her life, surfing on a worryingly spindly looking side table and firing off her proton pack more or less at random, chasing a trail of toppling objects around the room. One of her blasts seems to somehow find its mark, as the room is suddenly filled with a deafening shriek. Pieces of paper and splinters of wood whip up in a whirlwind around the spot she hit, before exploding outwards and covering the whole room in a mixture of old record cards and ectoplasmic residue.

"Gotcha!"

The engineer punches the air in celebration, turning to grin at Erin. Like a cowboy in an old movie she twirls her gun around her finger a couple of times, blowing imaginary smoke from the barrel, and slips it deftly back into its holster. Despite the voice at the back of her mind that's screaming about how she's got ectoplasm in her hair _again_ , couldn't she just have _one day_ when this didn't happen, Erin smiles back. In the face of that kind of delight it's difficult not to.

Their moment of victory is interrupted by Patty's yell from the next room, a unique and instantly recognisable blend of fear and furious determination.

"Oh, hell no, you do not get to show your ugly face now and try and scare me. I've seen subways at new year, you're gonna have to do better than that."

"You guys alright?" calls Holtz, hopping across a toppled bookshelf to try and see through the door. It's like she's playing 'the floor is lava', except with more green goo and less imagination. Even as Erin thinks it she's making a mental note to never mention it out loud, in case Holtzmann takes it as a cue to start playing around the firehouse for 'training purposes'. Knowing her, there would probably end up being real lava involved. There are more than enough explosions on a daily basis without that to contend with too.

"Oh yeah, just peachy," Abby replies, above the sound of her proton beam hissing and crackling through the air. Distantly, Patty snorts. "Listen, we've got to trap this one fast," she continues. "We'll send it- her- back through to you, so get ready."

"Hold her for two seconds."

Holtz unclips a trap from her pack, biting her lip as she looks around the room for a solid surface to rest it on. Eventually she settles on the heaviest piece of furniture she can see; an old desk, half buried by boxes and miscellaneous other items. Following where Holtz is looking, Erin sees three sewing machines, a couple of lamps, and what looks like a taxidermy of somebody's pet cat.

"Catch," says Holtz with a smirk, throwing her the trap. Erin nearly manages to catch it without dropping it, but she fumbles a little at the last second and has to steady herself against the stuffed animal. She shudders.

"No wonder antique shops are always haunted," she says, half to herself. "All this weird junk. There could be a hundred different possessed objects in here and we'd never know."

"Yeah," says Holtz absently. "Hey, is that a spinning wheel?"

"I don't know what you want with a spinning wheel, but you're not having one."

"I hate to interrupt your coffee morning, ladies, but there is one angry old lady ghost in front of my face right now," comes a yell from the next room.

"Sorry, Abby!"

Holtz looks at Erin.

"Open the trap," she grins. "And be careful not to prick your finger, yeah, princess?"

Erin blushes crimson and hopes faintly that the chill the ghost is filling the small shop with will mask it. Judging by the smug wink Holtz flashes in her direction, she's pretty sure that it doesn't work.

"Trap's open!"

A few seconds later the shop's current resident poltergeist comes sailing through the wall, now fully formed. It's taken the shape of an elderly woman, rage contorting her face and twisting her hands into claws. Immediately Holtz has her proton gun trained on her, whooping delightedly and muttering something about how she may owe Patty a new toaster oven but really the wiring and heating element clearly ended up in a better place now, and equipment for busting ghosts is a force for greater public good than grilled cheese sandwiches are. Normally Erin would be hanging on to every word. Right now, though, everything feels fuzzy.

"Gilbert? Erin, a little help, please."

Erin blinks furiously and reaches for her proton pack, fingers slipping on the controls. She’s done this a hundred times but her fingers are numb, uncooperative against the switches. When she finally gets it working the beam leaps out unexpectedly, the force of the blast sending her toppling off the wardrobe.

As she lands in the ectoplasm- which at least gives her a soft landing- she wonders not for the first time how many of her life’s problems she can directly blame on Isaac Newton.

She can’t quite see what’s going on any more, her view obscured by various piles of junk and objects of uncertain purpose. Holtz’s yelling sounds more excited than frightened, though, so she lets herself switch off for a second.

For a few precious moments an odd sense of peace settles over her, like she’s in the eye of a sticky and terrifying paranormal hurricane. Then, all too quickly, the numbness begins to dissipate. She’s detached, watching from the outside as conflicting sensations overwhelm her. One by one, she tries to catalogue them. Bring back some sense of order, of control.

Heart rate increasing past its resting rate, breathing fast and shallow; fight or flight, oxygenating the blood to prepare for the energy expenditure of escaping, however that may be. Her mind runs faster, ticking from biology over to physics as she wonders how much energy that would take, how much was in the coffee and sandwich she had for breakfast, whether the numbers match up. What could happen if they don’t… but wait, no, energy reserves are stored in alternative ways by the body and she’s got no accurate scale for measuring those-

As the trap slams shut and the ectoplasm settles, she becomes aware that she’s shaking.

Holtz climbs nimbly across the stacks to look down at her, the smoke from the trap barely visible over her shoulder. She’s beaming, ectoplasm splattered across her goggles and hair, riding on the adrenaline high she always gets after successfully causing things to explode.

“Got her! And I know what you said about the spinning wheel, and I will respect that decision because almost I blew up your bed the other day, but I’m pretty sure that if I ask nicely I can get that old barometer as part of our payment. Patty’s got some ideas that she wants me to help run trials with and it’d be really useful…”

She trails off. Erin is just looking at her like she can’t quite figure out how to speak. Sitting down on top of the nearest table, she pushes her glasses up on top of her head and blinks.

“Are you alright?”

Before Erin can form a reply, Patty and Abby walk in, wiping sweat and ectoplasm from their foreheads. Abby walks over to the trap, poking nervously at it.

“Successfully captured class three apparition-”

“Four.”

Everyone turns towards the soft whisper. Erin looks up, glancing between the faces of her three closest friends like she’s about to run away.

“What do you mean?”

Patty is bewildered, but Holtz and Abby both move forward. Reaching out a hand to help Erin to her feet, it’s Holtzmann who first speaks.

“Who is she?”

There’s a long pause, during which Holtzmann’s hand doesn’t leave Erin’s. She just squeezes lightly, thumb tracing circles over her knuckle. Eventually she  
manages to speak.

“My ghost.”

“Oh, Erin,” murmurs Abby, pushing forward to wrap her friend in a tight hug. Now she’s started talking it’s like she’s unable to stop, a stream of muffled words spilling into Abby’s shoulder.

“It was probably one of the spinning wheels- we always used to think she was a witch, every kid in the neighbourhood. I remember one Halloween… her cat wasn’t even black, he was grey, but some teenagers kicked it until it nearly died because it was the middle of the night and they didn’t care about details.”

“I know, Er. I remember,” says Abby, rubbing her back. It’s all too obvious that Erin’s barely holding back tears.

“My parents never believed me.”

“Want me to send them this box of ghost to prove them wrong?”

Blinking tears from her eyes, Erin looks up to see Holtz swinging the trap from one hand.

“Merry Christmas, Mr and Mrs Gilbert,” she says with a smile. Erin laughs quietly in response, wiping away the tears that are still threatening to fall.

“I’d rather we just get rid of it. Her. I don’t-”

“Hey, it’s alright. Want me to blow it up?”

As Erin shakes her head, Abby snatches the trap from Holtz’s hand.

“If she won’t, I will. This thing took my best friend away from me for so long, I think one of us deserves to be the one to send it back into the spirit world. Or, yknow, wherever it is those machines of yours hurl unwanted ghosts.”

Holtz nods solemnly, then smiles and tilts her head to one side.

“Brought her back to you as well, though.”

“Damn right it did,” says Abby, stepping away and gesturing to Patty to help her pack up the equipment. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I want pizza.”

“Best pizza place in the city is two blocks away,” says Patty instantly. “I’ll buy, the owner likes me. She was trying to work out her family tree, I know local history, she gave me food. It was a good arrangement. And if we order takeaway to the firehouse and hitch a ride then it’s faster than the subway this time of day.”

“Sounds good to me,” Abby agrees. Holtzmann wraps an arm casually around Erin’s shoulders as they head towards the door, leaning in against her.

“C’mon, ghost girl,” she says quietly. “Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Class 3: Anonymous Hauntings. Distinct human form and personality is evident, but former identity (i.e., as a living being) is not established.  
> Class 4: Identity established. Distinct human form and personality with known identity, such as General Custer or Cleopatra.  
> (taken from the ghostbusters wiki)
> 
> I don't own these characters or anything to do with the ghostbusters franchise. Comments and kudos fuel me, so please let me know if you liked or disliked anything about this. Also feel free to check me out on tumblr, username calamitys-child, if you've got fic requests/suggestions/want to know why Patty and Holtz need an antique barometer.


End file.
